


Felicity

by LUCKYWARRIORS (voidpacifist)



Series: Awtto Shorts [3]
Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Awsten + Travis' Slumber Party Podcast Submission, Awsten is Jack Frost, Christmas, Christmas Eve, M/M, Sort Of, not triggering just bittersweet lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27743554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidpacifist/pseuds/LUCKYWARRIORS
Summary: After hours, after they're all fast asleep awaiting Christmas morning, Otto goes on an adventure. He meets a creature he's heard referred to as Jack Frost...
Relationships: Awsten Knight/Otto Wood
Series: Awtto Shorts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785724
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	Felicity

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: none really! there's a brief description of severed antlers, but nothing bloody! 
> 
> disclaimer: I own nothing, I know nobody personally, and also just know nothing in general! this is fiction for fiction's sake, don't take it personally!

Christmas Eve is the same every year for the Wood family - Otto makes the drive to just outside of Houston to his parent's farm, they play card games over a turkey dinner, they watch a Christmas movie, and they go to bed at an unreasonably late hour of the night. Stuffed, happy, and excited about what awaits the next morning, they slumber until nervous energy awakes them all and beckons them to the tree in the living room for gift-opening and receiving.

Otto hasn't told his family that it's impossible for him to fall asleep on Christmas Eve. In fact, he hasn't told his family he's had trouble sleeping at all. It's typical for him to doze into the afternoon on his off days, and when he doesn't manage that, he's napping throughout the day anyway. And that's even after a full night's rest. No one anticipates that he has to use all his willpower to lie still and steady his racing heartbeat because they already assume he can do it out of habit. 

They're wrong, of course, but they don't know that they're wrong, and Otto plans on keeping it that way.

It's on nights like these, when he's particularly restless and itching for something to do, that he sneaks out the window of his room, scales the big pine tree, and releases himself to the subdued wilderness of the farm. The fields are open and golden, glistening under a thin layer of frost. Even though he's never had a white Christmas, he doesn't deny that everything looks sparkling (and even a little bit snowy) under the moonlight. Just the sight of it makes him feel all the more awake.

Sometimes his nocturnal activities are simple - sit in the big tree by his room until the sun comes up, walk through the fields to the treeline and back, walk _past_ the treeline and into the woods just to see what everything looks like (this usually spooks him into going back to his room to try and fight the insomnia demon instead) - and other times, like tonight, they consist of him bringing _The Night Before Christmas_ to the stables to read to his two horses. He feels a little silly standing around in just his pajama bottoms and pom-pom hat, but silly is okay to feel on Christmas Eve.

Plus, no one's around to watch him. The nearest houses to his parents' are a few miles out in all directions.

He's only wearing socks, so he's careful about being closer to the ground before he dismounts the trunk of the tree. As soon as he's planted on the frosty earth, he race walks to the barn. It's typical, painted that weird, brick red (pink? colorblindness means he's never been able to tell). The door hinges are rusted to the point where his dad took them off of the building altogether. It's his favorite place to be on nights like these, on nights where his restlessness and excitement about the next day team up to make his brain feel like it's chalk full of TV static. 

He steps into the barn - the first floor is covered sparsely with hay, getting more and more condensed the closer it is to the little gated areas on either side. Only one of the horses is awake. He can hear it grunt when his footsteps echo throughout the barn. The only other sound is the second horse's heavy breathing. Oh well, at least he has an audience of one to read to.

There's enough moonlight streaming through and reaching the edges of the concrete floor that Otto can cross little over halfway through the barn and station himself to sit criss cross on the ground. It'll be enough illumination for him to see the pages, even though he already has the whole thing memorized from the countless times he's been read the tale. He lowers himself carefully, folding his legs and opening the old hardback to the first few pages. The spine cracks when the pages finally lay flat, and it's once again a reminder of just how long the thing has been around.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "'Twas the night before Christmas..."

 _...when all through the house,  
_ _not a creature was stirring,  
not even a-_

But before he could say the word _mouse,_ he heard a soft rustle from the loft above him. The only way to reach the top landing was with a rickety ladder - if the horses heard someone climbing that they didn't know, surely he would've heard them from the house, whinnying in alarm. But they seem to pay no attention, and as soon as he stops reading, the rustling stops too.

Whoever is up there... _what_ ever is up there must really want him to continue. Swallowing his anxiousness about the strange noises in the barn, he coughs and begins reading again.

_-mouse._

_The stockings were hung  
by the chimney with care  
in hopes that Saint Nicholas  
soon would be there-_

"That's not true," a pointed voice says suddenly, and Otto damn near jumps out of his own skin. He wheels around, looking around for any sign of anyone in the barn. When he sees no one, he decides he must be hearing things. Then again...it sounded so close and so _real._ And the horses are starting to get antsy in their enclosures. The more awake one is bucking at the air with one timid leg.

There's not a _chance_ he was just hearing things. 

He closes his book, resolute on finding the source of the voice. Getting up, he stumbles (how the hell are his feet already asleep?) over to the decrepit ladder and begins the climb. He quickly realizes that doing so with the volume in his hand is doing him no favors, so he drops it to the floor. 

The clatter fills the whole room, and Otto swears he can feel his spine vibrate with the sudden papery _clack!_ that resounds. Shaking off the idea that maybe he's causing too much ruckus that may wake his parents all the way in the house, he begins the climb again, much faster now that both hands are free. He reaches the top and peers in, looking for...

Well, he assumes he's looking for a person. A _man._ The voice was a man's. Or was it a woman's? It was _soft_ like a woman's and _deep_ like a man's.

So he's just looking for any living person, really.

He doesn't see anything immediately, so he climbs higher and dismounts, stepping into hay that lays a foot tall on the loft's platform. The stuff will surely stick to his jeans - it hugs his shins as he wades through, looking for anything in the darkness. 

Of course, trying to look without a flashlight is a stupid idea, and his phone is back on the nightstand of his bedroom. _Shit._ Feeling around for anything at all - a lantern, a torch, hell a box of matches - he runs his hands over the shelves built in along the walls. He finally grazes a small box, then a bigger object, and upon inspecting it with his fingertips, he realizes it's a kerosene lamp. _Of course dad would have a lamp up here,_ he thinks to himself, grateful for a light source.

Striking a match (and not very gracefully), he finds the little door in the side of the lamp and drops it in. Turning the dial ever so slightly, he illuminates the inside of the lamp, and ultimately the five foot radius around the glow. Scanning around the loft, he peers through the hay to see if he can find anything. He checks the corners, even underneath the larger piles of straw, but he comes up short. 

_Maybe I am just hearing things._

Even so, he offers a small, "Hello?" to the darkness. Something stirs, he can feel it. There's a rustling, and then a breeze seems to run through the loft, because he seems to feel cold all of a sudden. But still, the lamp doesn't shed light on anything living.

Sighing, he steps toward the ladder to begin the climb down, when the same wind from before begins blowing violently, so violently that his lamp is blown out and the ladder snaps. _Great, shit, I'm stuck up here._ "God dammit," he mutters angrily. He supposes he could hang from the opening and jump down, because the distance really isn't more than fifteen feet. Then he remembers he's in socks.

"God _dammit,_ " he snaps louder, and once again he's greeted with the same voice.

"What is 'God'? What does it damn?"

The same soft, deep voice. Like ice. Otto shouldn't be surprised - he's likely being haunted by _something._ But he still jumps and still looks around wildly even though he knows he'll see nothing. Not just because of the darkness, but because looking never got him anywhere. "Who the hell are you?" he asks, frustrated at not having an answer. At this point, he doesn't expect one, but then the voice speaks up again.

"Climb down, then we'll talk." Another shiver crawls up Otto's spine, and he peers at the opening in the floor to find the ladder standing against the side, good as new. He wiggles it but it doesn't budge. It's like it's been frozen in place. Abandoning the lamp, and praying silently that this isn't some sort of sleep deprived trick of the universe, he steps onto one rung. Then another. He's all the way down and standing on cold concrete again when he realizes that he has not, in fact, been hallucinating anything. His hands are too cold for this to be a dream.

He turns in place, expecting to see nothing. But instead, there's something - someone. A man his age with gaunt features and crystal white hair. There's no reasonable explanation for the way he almost shimmers in the peeking moonlight from outside. He looks cold, and a little bit like he's been crying. He's in a big sweater and some thin, black jeans, but other than that, he's barefoot. The clothes seem unnatural...like they don't belong to him. Something tells Otto that he never stole them, though. Truthfully it's just a hunch. The guy's probably a criminal just looking for a place to hide and someone to play tricks on.

But then Otto remembers he's been crying. So why would he be playing tricks. "You can...see me?" the man asks shyly. Otto blinks hard, but the man is still there. "Of course I can," he says, like it's obvious. The man stands there, mouth slightly open, as if he's still taking it in. Every time he speaks, Otto feels like the air freezes. "Why wouldn't I?" he asks, puzzled. The man furrows his thick, dark eyebrows, then he walks by the horses, who ignore him as if he-

As if he isn't there.

" _They_ don't see me," he says, almost sad. But then a quaint smile overtakes his face. "Then again, animals don't conceive of Winterkind."

"Winterkind?" Otto has never heard of such a word before. The man nods, and the frown returns. He has the expression of someone who's lost something. Somebody. As he dips his head, Otto notices two little stubs, the cross sections of antlers. He stiffens. This man isn't even human.

This is a dream. This is _definitely_ just a really weird, sad dream. "Funny, isn't it?" the man asks, fixing Otto with a look that can only be described as _knowing._ It's mixed with something else, too. A plethora of other things. "Isn't what?" Otto ventures.

"Most people can't hear me either. Not at this age. You have no reason to believe in fairies anymore, you're...how old are you?"

Otto swallows. _Surely_ this isn't real. "Twenty-six," he stammers. The man nods, furrowing his eyebrows again. Then his eyes widen. "You have the Gift," he says, awestruck, and Otto doesn't know what the hell the 'Gift' is, but it seems pretty damn important to this guy. The man shakes his head. "Sorry, it's just that there hasn't been a Gifted human in hundreds of years."

"And how do you know that?" There's still so much he doesn't understand. "Aren't children this... _Gifted_ thing if they can tell you exist?"

The man's face softens. "Gifted ones aren't children, because all children can see magic. Do you see what I mean? It wouldn't be called being _Gifted_ if everyone could see me." He smiles that odd smile again. "And I _know_ that because my birthday is tomorrow."

"Oh, um...happy birthday."

The man laughs a real laugh, his whole body jumping with the noise. Otto swears he hears a hint of bells as well, but he writes that off as his imagination.

Still, maybe the rest of this isn't.

"It's a _birthday,_ sure. But it's never been happy, really. Just another day of watching everyone forget that I exist like that last four-thousand-fifty-one years."

"No _way._ "

" _Yes_ way. Did you know your great-great grandpa had an affair with a goat?"

"Dude, shut _up!_ " Otto shouts, but even he's laughing. "There's no way you're that old! You'd be like, a pile of dust or something if you're _that_ old. Four-thousand? You look like you're twenty-four!"

"It's the body I picked," the man says, and Otto quickly sobers.

"Picked?" he asks, hesitant.

"About seventeen winters ago, a little boy died, so after they buried him I picked his body to inhabit."

"That's fucking weird."

"That's fucking _life,_ " the man snaps. He turns away from where he was by the horse pen and walks to sit at the edge of the barn. Otto takes a few tentative steps and plants himself beside the man.

"I picked his name too. _Austin._ It sounds boring, though, so I changed a couple of the letters." He lets himself smile warmly at the sparkling earth. "He was a good kid. And now, he gets to live forever."

Otto swallows. "That's such a long time," he whispers, almost frightened at the prospect. "Yeah," the man- _Austin_ says to him. "But he's not Austin anymore. It's spelled different, see - A-W-S-T-E-N. Isn't that nicer?"

"It's weird but...yeah I suppose it's nicer."

Awsten chuckles to himself. They sit for a long time in a comforting silence, until the white-haired man frowns sullenly. "This was a mistake." Otto feels concern tug at his heart. "What d'you mean?" he asks, because now that they're at least _sort of_ friends, he'd feel bad for not offering some sympathy. A listening ear, if you will. Awsten smiles sadly and looks Otto right in the eye. "A long, sad story." There's a pause, and Otto notices that his eyes are two different colors. He can't tell _which_ colors, but he knows that the right one is slightly darker than the left. "But anyway," Awsten continues after a but, "it's Christmas Eve. It's not my job to ruin the seasons for you and make them depressing."

"What's depressing is when someone doesn't have anyone to listen to them," Otto interjects, seemingly out of nowhere. He isn't the type to make such audacious quips, and he feels a little bad about how startled Awsten seems at his words. "Like...listen," he pushes out, "if you've really been alive for... _four thousand years,_ then doesn't it get lonely? Don't you have a lot to say?"

Awsten looks stiff beside him, but after a moment, he crumbles - he doesn't cry, but rather a little coat of ice begins to bloom beneath both eyes. It would be fascinating if his body weren't shaking. Otto allows himself to move closer and place a tentative hand on his back. At first Awsten jumps, and Otto wonders how long it's been since someone's touched him. Otto wonders if he shouldn't have done that, but Awsten leans in and rests his head on Otto's lap. His body is so cold that Otto wonders how he's still alive - then again, he _can_ conjure ice out of nowhere and also has (had) a pair of antlers in his hair.

"I-I used to ha-have a dif-different body," he says through sobs, not really through tears, although the ice on his face is spreading more jaggedly the more worked up he becomes. "I used t-to have a family, but th-then they-" he inhales sharply, "they all d-died. _W-We_ all died. E-Everyone in the city was s-s-sick. But then the W-Winter Spirit came and chose m-m-me, so I got to live while I...I-I watched the rest of them d-disappear."

"I'm sorry," Otto says, and he means it. Awsten just nods before saying pointedly, "He's _not_ a n-nice spirit. N-Not at all." He takes a moment to get a few deep breaths in and compose himself so he doesn't stumble. Otto's hand is still on his back. After a long silence, after Awsten's body stops shaking, he says in a broken whisper, "Saint Nicholas isn't a man at all. He made me what I am. And I _hate_ him.

"I remember...watching as my family was decomposing in the rubble of their own bodies, feeling like my head was about to explode. But then when I reached up to check for blood, something stabbed my hand. The only mirror in the house showed me those _stupid fucking antlers-_ " he inhales sharply again, "It was so long ago but sometimes they still hurt. A posse of Gifted ones found me maybe..." he starts counting to himself, then pipes up again, "five hundred years ago. They wanted proof that they found the 'spirit of Jack Frost,' a Winterkind." He laughs bitterly. "There were more of us that the Winter Spirit had cursed for eternity, but by the time humans began invading the Americas, I was the last one."

Otto listens patiently. It _is_ a long and very painful story. 

"Gifted ones get wishes sometimes," Awsten says, and Otto thinks it's a weird insertion before Awsten continues, "but in my experience, they've never done _good_ things with those wishes. They've wished for expansion, but animals and people died. They've wished for good health, but they've had to kill things to get it. They've wished for love...but then they didn't wait long enough for the right one, so they stopped believing. The more selfish wishes they created, the more I became non-existent."

Silence consumes the space once again. Otto doesn't have a watch, but he guesses it's maybe three a.m. He's been out for hours.

"Still, the Winter Spirit _did_ give me the ability to make ice, so I guess that's kinda cool." He giggles, then sobers again. "The ice doesn't last as long as it used to, because I'm technically 'injured' from when the Gifted ones took my antlers." He starts laughing again, and Otto's confused by it. "What is it?" he asks, eager for an explanation at Awsten's sudden change in behavior. Awsten slows his giggling. "My antlers used to be pearly, almost see-through like glass, but...as soon as they cut them off, they turned into normal antlers." 

Otto snorts. "Joke's on them," he laughs. The silence returns to comfortable.

Suddenly, a little glowing light appears in front of Otto. It's like a little star floated to Earth for him, and he marvels at how bright it is before Awsten sits up abruptly, mouth open in fascination. Otto turns to him. "What is it?" Awsten blinks a couple of times, then barely whispers, "It's your wish."

Otto thinks that kind of freedom to have whatever he wants granted to him is rather dangerous. _The more selfish wishes they created,_ _the more I became non-existent._ Otto doesn't know much about Awsten, but he knows he doesn't want this to be a selfish wish. He turns back to face the barn, to get himself a darker place to think about this, but then he sees that the ladder to the loft is snapped again.

Awsten had fixed it with his ice so he could come down.

But now it was all melted. His antlers...

Otto doesn't need to think about it much longer before he's turned back to the glowing wish, hoping all he has to do is think really really hard about what he wants. Awsten turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Well? Aren'tcha gonna say it?"

"I thought that spoiled the wish?"

"That's a myth."

Looking directly at the wish, bobbing in the air, he says softly, "Give him his antlers again." Beside him, Awsten's eyes widen. The wish floats slowly over, stopping directly above Awsten's head. The glow gets brighter and bigger, and both Otto and Awsten shut their eyes. It's so bright that Otto can see the veins in his eyelids. And then, just like that, the glow stops, and Otto opens his eyes again. 

He has to do a double-take. Awsten's antlers are absolutely magnificent. They stand almost two feet above his head, fanning out in thin, pearly blades, becoming silver at the tips. Awsten is touching them ever so gently with his fingers, completely stunned. It's like he doesn't believe they're real, though Otto supposes five hundred years of not having them will do that to a person. Well, to Awsten.

Awsten's eyes well up, and the gentle, blooming ice from before starts creeping down his face. "Thank you," he croaks, sounding like he's about to cry again. Otto just nods. He's grateful he doesn't have to worry about wishing anymore. 

Awsten suddenly gets a grin on his face. "I gotta do something," he says, standing up and offering a hand to Otto. But instead of it being cold, like before, Awsten's touch sends a warmth through him, the same kind of warmth one gets after having hot cider or getting hugged by a loved one. "It was nice to meet you..."

"Otto," Otto finishes, realizing he's been stupid for not introducing himself. Awsten smiles fondly at him.

"Take care of yourself, Otto. And thank you."

Otto thinks Awsten looks and feels genuinely happy, probably for the first time in hundreds of years. His new friend turns on his heel and begins walking towards the expanse of farmland, before his body fades away, either due to the darkening sky overhead or due to the magic of Winterkind. Otto notes the darkness, and when he takes a look at the sky, he can see clouds gathering rapidly.

 _Is it gonna rain?_ he wonders, but then the most magical thing of the evening happens. Houston has never had a white Christmas, but descending from the sky in fleets are large, fluffy snowflakes. In no time at all, they cover Otto's shirtless form and every other visible surface. He'd be cold if it weren't for everything else that took place tonight. Stepping back into the barn and snatching his book from off the floor, he finally feels a real exhaustion wash over him. Sprinting so his feet don't get too wet, he runs back to the tree by his bedroom and climbs. Then, quietly as he can, he slips into his room, peels off his socks, and gets under the covers of his bed. Closing his eyes and slipping away, he smiles.

He used his wish well.


End file.
